Angels
by nebula99
Summary: Gideon will do anything to protect Reid, no matter what he has done.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Criminal Minds. But I do own this story.

**Warning: **Character death - this is a very dark fic.

**Author's Note: **This is a late Christmas present for a friend. I hope she likes it and I hope you do too.

**Angels**

Yet each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword.

Oscar Wilde, _The Ballad of Reading Gaol_

Jason Gideon didn't believe in love at first sight: lust, certainly, but not love. You need to know somebody to truly love them. Love is something that develops over time; over years sometimes. It is when you catch your breath at the sight of your loved one; when a smile or a laugh fills your soul with joy; when you would do anything for them; when the thought of losing them is intolerable.

He didn't know when he had first fallen in love with Spencer Reid. It was a feeling that had built up as long as they had known each other. Gideon had recruited the young genius from college, impressed by his brilliance and intrigued by his potential. The gawky, nervous young man had blossomed under Gideon's tutelage and if he was truly honest, Gideon felt a certain pride in the way that Reid looked up to him. It was flattering to be thought of as such an inspiration. He shone in the light of Reid's devotion, his admiration and his need.

Gideon wasn't sure his feelings for Reid were reciprocated. Certainly, he had never told the young man how he felt. _Look, but don't touch_ seemed like an appropriate mantra. He was too old, too much of a father figure for this kind of relationship. And there was also the trace of insecurity – the fear of Reid rejecting him was too strong. Whenever Gideon was tempted to declare himself, a vision came to him of Reid backing away, a look of betrayal and revulsion on his face. It was enough to keep him in check.

So, Gideon kept his love to himself. He was confident that he hid it well enough from the rest of the team. Except maybe from Hotch – he could hide very little from him. They had known - really known - each other for too long. But if Hotch suspected something, he never mentioned it. Hotch was nothing if not discrete; he had enough secrets of his own.

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Gideon stood in the doorway of his office, watching the rest of the BAU chatting in the bullpen. Morgan and JJ were joking with Garcia. Prentiss was smiling, but still on the sidelines. Reid was talking very seriously to Hotch. Then as Hotch walked away, Gideon watched Reid. The young man nodded and smiled as Morgan called to him. But he didn't smile with his eyes. It was a tight, forced smile – the smile of somebody who knew that he was supposed to be happy, but who had nothing to be happy about.

Gideon had seen that smile on Reid's face before. Only a few times since he had first known him, but it always meant there was something happening within. There had been periods of time when Reid had become distant, preoccupied. He had been outwardly his normal self – full of facts, ready to crack codes and decipher puzzles. However, during these periods, he was different inside. It was possibly only noticeable to those who knew him well, those who had studied him. But he was definitely different, as though he had disappeared inside himself: as though his soul had another place to be. But after a while, Spencer Reid had returned to them, the same as before and so Gideon let it go. After all, the young man should surely be allowed a vacation once in a while – albeit an internal one.

Shaking his head, Gideon returned to his desk. Reid had been "absent" before and he would be back. Gideon chuckled to himself – if he didn't spend so much time watching Reid, storing up memories for later, then he wouldn't even know. It was his own fault for wanting as strong a picture as possible for his late night reveries. He really needed another interest. Maybe he should have a hobby – something that didn't involve serial killers or beautiful young men. Perhaps fishing had a lot to recommend it.

Gideon sat down and opened the files he had received that morning. He had already read through them but he needed to look at them properly. The Las Vegas Police Department had asked him for a consultation and he needed to be quite sure of the details before he provided a profile. Earlier, he had wanted to discuss it with Reid, being as it was his hometown, but he wasn't too sure now. He would see what he could come up with first.

There had been three sets of murders, with at least a year separating each set. The murders had involved parents and children. The parents had been killed by having their necks broken. The bodies had been left where they lay, discarded and ignored. The children, however, had been killed very differently. Each child had been smothered and then dressed in white and laid very carefully and wrapped in a blanket. The bodies had been placed in flowerbeds – beds full of white flowers. A card had been left with each one with a single word written in black ink – _Angel_. The crime scene photographs looked like the children were floating in clouds.

From the two different methods and the treatment of the bodies, it had been assumed that there were two different killers. That was certainly the view of the detective who had contacted Gideon. However, Gideon wasn't so sure. There were certainly two different methods, but maybe there were two different reasons for killing.

He picked up the notes for the most recent murder. It had occurred three months ago and like the others, there was no forensic evidence at all. The killer seemed likely to have had previous convictions for lesser offences, as they obviously knew a great deal about law enforcement procedures. The case file indicated that the parents had been on the social services register for suspected child abuse. The child had been removed from the parents aged a few months, due to suspected neglect. However, they had sued for custody and the child had been returned to them. There were suspicions of further abuse, but no action had been taken. Then both parents had been found murdered, and the child, a little boy aged four had been found smothered.

In each case, the parents had been the first suspects – a possible murder/suicide, but the time of death had quickly ruled that out. The parents had died first, with the children being killed afterwards. Gideon picked up the photograph focusing on the card left with child's body. The word _Angel_ was written in a very elaborate way. This unsub had obviously spent a lot of time positioning the body of the child. The children had all looked peaceful, beatific even, indicating that the unsub felt a great deal for them. And also, that he had taken care to ensure that they died painlessly.

Gideon turned to the crime scene photograph of the little boy, Brian. The blanket he had been wrapped in had been placed over his face. "Remorse," thought Gideon, "The unsub covers the children's faces because he regrets having killed them. Yet he still does it. Maybe he feels that he has to. An unsavoury task, but a necessary one."

He returned to the child neglect details and then looked at the notes for the other two sets of killings. There were no details of child abuse there, but possibly because the local police had not known to look for them. He decided to urge Detective Martin to look at child neglect in connection with the first two murders also and turned to his computer to start writing the profile. Then he paused. He could ask Garcia to check now.

Gideon waited a moment, thinking. This was not a BAU case. He had been asked for a profile, not a solution, and the local PD could take real umbrage at him poking his nose in. There was no suggestion that another murder was imminent – there had been at least a year between each killing. But now that he knew there could be a connection – well, he couldn't just let that one go. With a sigh, he headed for Garcia's office.

He gave her the details and left her to "work her magic" as she put it. On the way back through the bullpen, he paused at Reid's desk. He often found himself doing that.

"How are you?" Gideon asked the young man.

Reid looked up. His expression was blank at first, but then he smiled. The same smile he had given Morgan before. "I'm good," he said. "A little tired, but who isn't?"

Gideon nodded warmly at him. "Who isn't indeed," he said. He placed a hand lightly on Reid's shoulder. "Maybe you should call it a day when you've finished that one."

Reid nodded. "Maybe I will," he replied.

Gideon took a moment to look into the soft brown eyes. They seemed very deep, the dark centres almost drawing him in. Gideon wondered what secrets Reid was hiding. Then he forced himself to look away - it wasn't fair to profile him like this. He headed back to his office. He was tired too. He would go home and have a nice hot bath. Then he would see what Garcia had come up with tomorrow and write his profile after that.

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The next day, Gideon sat in his office, concentrating on writing up his profile. He felt confident of his conclusions and had no need to discuss the issue with Reid. This disappointed him slightly – he loved to talk to the young man and watch his amazing mind at work – but Reid was busy enough right now.

Garcia had collared him when Gideon had arrived for work and excitedly told him that both of the other cases had child neglect issues. It had taken some digging, throughh school and hospital records, but there were definitely concerns about both of the other murdered children. Gideon pondered – perhaps the unsub thought he was saving them. And punishing bad parents - that would certainly fit with the careless fashion in which the adult bodies had been left.

Gideon grabbed a coffee and stood for a moment at the top of the stairs, watching the other agents. Reid was busy, as usual, head bent over his desk. Gideon smiled to himself. The boy worked too hard. Maybe soon, when he was back to himself again, Gideon could take him out to dinner. They had done this on occasion before and had always had an enjoyable evening.

Gideon was a good cook and it would have made sense to have invited him over for a meal the evening, but Spencer Reid in his own home for the evening was far too much of a temptation. Better to eat in a restaurant, when not even a few glasses of wine would encourage Gideon to kiss him. Just one kiss would be enough to allow all the feelings to come tumbling out and Gideon felt convinced that neither of them would be able to deal with that. So a casual dinner in a very public place would be his reward.

He had just walked back into his office, when JJ popped her head around the door.

"It's Morgan's birthday next week," she said with a bright smile, "I have his card for you to sign."

"Of course," said Gideon, taking the proffered card from her. JJ was so thoughtful like this – she kept a note of everyone's birthday and made sure that a card was sent, signed by the whole team. Somebody really should do the same for her.

Gideon sat down at his desk and reached for a pen. He would read what the others had written first, to set the tone. He opened up the card and saw that Prentiss, JJ, Garcia and Reid had already signed it. Prentiss had written a perfunctory _Happy Birthday_ whereas JJ and Garcia had written longer messages, full of jokes he didn't understand.

Then he looked at Reid's contribution. He had written _Happy Birthday, Derek_. _Hope your birthday angel brings you what your heart desires. Best wishes, Spencer Reid_. It was a standard, if somewhat formal, greeting to a colleague. But what caught Gideon's eye was the handwriting.

It was beautifully written with a fountain pen. Reid usually made notes with a pencil and his handwriting could be difficult to decipher sometimes. This writing bore a resemblance to Reid's usual hand but much more care had been taken; a great deal of care, in fact. He had seen that careful script somewhere before.

For a couple of minutes, Gideon stared at the card, unable to accept what his mind was telling him. Then he heard JJ clear her throat.

"Er, I'll give it to you in a moment," he said and ushered her out of his office. Then he closed the door firmly and locked it.

Taking a deep breath, Gideon opened the file on his desk and placed the photograph from the crime scene next to the card. He looked from the note left by the body to the message from Reid. The handwriting matched. He looked at the word _angel_ on both the card and the note. They were almost identical. He suddenly felt very, very cold.

Gideon spent the next couple of hours in his office. He made a surreptitious copy of the birthday card and returned it to JJ, having scrawled his name in it and nothing else.

He wanted the handwriting to be a coincidence. But Gideon didn't believe in coincidences. He stared at the two words for a very long time. He would put money on them being written by the same hand.

Reid could have written the cards unknowingly for a killer. Or he could have written them knowingly. Gideon was not going to think about the other possibility. He got up and pushed open a gap in his blind. Stooping slightly, he looked over to Reid, who was typing diligently. Now and again, the young man paused and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. It was a gesture Gideon had seen a thousand times and it had never lost its power to catch at his heart.

Sighing, he turned away, rubbing unconsciously at his chin. The murders had taken place in and around Las Vegas – therefore the killer needed to have been there at the time. If Reid was connected, Gideon needed to know when he had last been there. But how could he check personnel records showing Reid's whereabouts without arousing suspicion? Gideon thought for a moment, and then headed to see Garcia again.

"Whatcha got for me, hon?" she asked, barely looking up from her screen.

"I'm doing psych evaluations," lied Gideon. "I need to check when Morgan and Reid have last visited their families over the past three years."

Garcia turned round and frowned at him. "So if they haven't been home enough, you get worried about them?"

Gideon gave her a faint smile. "Something like that."

Garcia shrugged. "I'll holler when I get it," she said.

"Just come and see me," he replied, "They aren't supposed to know."

He returned to his office and waited. Soon Garcia came and handed him the records he needed. He locked the door behind her, took a deep breath and started to compare the dates with the files.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

For a long time, Gideon sat in silence, contemplating what he had just learned. Gradually the bull pen emptied as agents stopped work for the day and went home. The busy hum of computers and chatter gave way to low lighting and a stillness that now felt ominous. Gideon had it in black and white in front of him. Reid had been in Vegas at the time of each of the murders. His handwriting matched that on the card. He had the law enforcement knowledge to leave nothing for the CSI team. He became upset and agitated when the team dealt with child abuse cases, indicating that he felt strongly about the issue; that he possibly had previous experience of it. If it had been anyone else, it would have been enough to bring him in.

But he wasn't anyone else. He was Spencer Reid and Gideon would not believe he was a killer. He turned to his computer and brought up the profile he had written. Gideon took a deep breath, and then he turned against everything he knew and believed in and rewrote the profile.

He stated that the unsub would have previous military experience and be aged 30 to 45. He would live in the Las Vegas area and have always done so. He would work a menial job and feel powerless at work. He probably had drug or alcohol issues. He was likely to have a partner, possibly female, who helped arrange the children's bodies.

Gideon stared at the screen for a moment and then hit the print icon. He grabbed the sheet of paper as it slid out of the printer and quickly stuffed it into an envelope. He scrawled Detective Martin's name and address on the front and then grabbed his coat. Dropping the envelope into the post tray, he walked decisively to Reid's desk.

He stopped behind the young man. Reid was bent over, scribbling rapidly in one of his notebooks. He had an air of extreme concentration about him, oblivious to his surroundings. On any other day, this was typical Reid behaviour. Today, this was enough to alarm Gideon. He tapped him gently on the shoulder.

Reid gave a start and turned round. For a moment, he looked worried, almost childlike, but then the mask and the fake smile returned. Gideon almost gasped with sadness and he clenched his jaw in the effort to push those feelings back down. "Can I give you a ride home?" he asked "I have an errand near your end of town."

Reid nodded and quickly packed his satchel. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale, as though he hadn't been sleeping.

The drive was mostly in silence. As they neared Reid's apartment, Gideon started to question him gently. "How are the nightmares these days?" he asked.

Reid turned to him. "Depends," he replied. "Sometimes I have lots, and other times I have none at all."

Gideon continued. "What about now? That case in Pittsburgh was pretty difficult. I know Hotch couldn't look at the pictures of those mutilated kids for very long."

Something flickered across Reid's face. "Children should be safe from harm," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice.

Gideon pulled into the parking lot. He turned to face Reid. "You're right. Adults should take care of kids, not hurt them. These cases must really get to you."

A smile spread across Reid's face. This time, his eyes were shining too. "I don't worry anymore," he said, in a tone Gideon had never heard before. "Because I know that if I do my job properly – I can save them!"

Then, he opened the car door and with a cheerful wave, bounded towards his apartment block door.

Gideon watched him go in and then sat in his car, staring at the building. A chill started in his heart and then slowly began to pump around his body. He knew what he was seeing in Reid and he could hardly bear to admit it. There was always a chance he was wrong, but he sincerely doubted it.

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For the next few days, Gideon managed to suppress the fears that he had. He continued to observe Reid closely but as the BAU were called to another case, there was little time to dwell on his suspicions.

Hotch noticed that he seemed preoccupied on the flight back to Washington and asked him if there was something wrong.

Gideon smiled at him and shook his head. "Just got a lot of stuff to think about," he said.

"Don't keep it all to yourself, Jason," replied Hotch with a worried frown. "I can help you, remember?"

Gideon nodded. "No need, but thank you."

He turned to look at Reid, curled up asleep on the seats across from him. He looked so young when he did that, so innocent and fragile. Gideon was filled with tenderness for him and for a moment, it was easy to dismiss any notions of psychosis. But then he remember how the young man's eyes had lit up when he talked about saving the children and he knew that there was something terribly wrong.

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Any remaining doubts that Gideon had were quashed when he received a letter from the LVPD thanking him for his profile and including a tape from a CCTV camera. It was showing somebody carrying what could be a child's body through the park where Brian had been found. The footage was only thirty seconds long and it was impossible to see the man's face, but Detective Martin thought it could be the unsub.

Hoping it would allow him to stop worrying by implicating somebody else, Gideon locked the conference room door and then sat down to watch the tape. It was grainy and difficult to see any detail properly, but as the man on the tape carried the bundle in his arms, he suddenly put his hand up to tuck his hair behind his ear. At that moment, Gideon knew.

At that moment, Jason Gideon's heart broke.

All that night, Gideon sat in the darkness in his office, wondering what to do. He knew what Hotch would have done, but he couldn't do that. He loved Reid, really and truly loved him and he could not hand him over to Detective Martin, much as that would be the correct thing to do. But he had to be stopped from killing anybody else.

The options facing Reid were terrible. His future lay either in jail or a facility for the criminally insane. Gideon could not bear the thought of either of these. He closed his eyes and saw a picture of Reid sat in the corner of a barren room, rocking slowly back and forth, the light gone out of his eyes forever. In which ever place Reid ended up, he would be forever branded a child killer – a true monster. This beautiful, brilliant young man would spend the rest of his life locked away, surviving amongst the very worst of society. And he would be one of them.

He did consider running away. He could take Reid across the Mexican border and escape to South America somewhere. It would be easy enough for them both to disappear. He would take care of Reid – nurture and protect him, save him from himself and from the authorities. Gideon could help him through this state and nurse him back to reality. Gideon would make sure he never killed again and they would be safe. They would be together.

It was almost a possibility. He had almost decided to drive to Reid's apartment and pick him up, ready to leave. But then he thought about it properly.

If Reid was to be helped, he needed to be brought back to into the real world. He had to see his delusions for what they were – figments of his imagination. He needed to acknowledge that he was sick and accept treatment. He needed to understand that he had killed people and learn how to prevent himself from doing so again. And that was where the plan fell down.

At this point, Gideon felt fat wet tears begin to slide down his face. He truly did not know which was worse; for Reid to remain in a psychotic state, completely unaware that he was sick, or for Reid to realise what he had done. This knowledge would destroy him. Whatever Gideon did to soothe him, how ever far away they ran, Reid would never be able to escape from what he had done, from what he had become. But Gideon loved him and he would find a way to help him, no matter what it cost.

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When Gideon invited him to spend an evening at his cabin, Reid accepted eagerly. Gideon picked him up and the drive out through the woods was peaceful, with inconsequential chatter and an air of easy friendship. Gideon found it easier to think of it as a date - Reid was coming to his cabin for dinner and possibly more.

Once inside, Gideon busied himself with cooking. Reid sat on a high stool in the kitchen with him, nursing a beer and spilling out food facts at regular intervals. Occasionally, Gideon would feel his eyes fill with tears, but he blamed the onions and laughed at his weakness – the vegetables had got the better of him, he quipped. And then he turned away so that Reid would not see the anguish in his face. He couldn't bear for the young man to be upset, not tonight.

They shared a bottle of wine whilst they ate and during dessert, Gideon asked a tentative question. "Do you believe in angels?"

Reid put down his spoon and smiled at Gideon. "Angels are all around us, Gideon," he said. "I know that I am safe. And I can make others safe too."

Gideon took a deep breath, pushing down the panic rising in his throat. "And how do you make them safe?" he asked.

Reid stood up and walked to the window. Gideon followed and looked as Reid pointed to the night sky outside. "I trust them to the angels," he said softly, turning to Gideon. "Sometimes, you just have to believe."

Gideon nodded. Then he took the young man's hand and squeezed it gently. "Its late," he said, "Would you like to stay the night?"

The smile he received was warm and trusting. "I'd like that a lot," said Reid, and Gideon felt the guilt stab him like a knife in his belly.

"Why don't I fix you some hot chocolate?" he said, placing an arm around Reid's shoulders.

"Thank you," said Reid and he turned back to stare through the window.

Grateful that Reid wasn't watching him, Gideon let a few tears fall as he warmed the milk and made the hot drink. Then he handed the cup to Reid and hurried to the bathroom, quickly washing his face and trying to pull himself together.

Returning, he saw Reid sitting on the couch, blowing into the cup and taking small sips. He looked so young and so very, very beautiful. He lifted large brown eyes to Gideon and gave him a gentle smile. "You make wonderful hot chocolate, Gideon," he said, "I don't think I've ever had it this good before."

"Please call me Jason," replied Gideon, his voice cracking. He sat down next to Reid. He put his arm around Reid's shoulders and eased the young man back so that he was leaning against Gideon's chest.

They sat in silence for a short while, Gideon watching the young man as he enjoyed the comforting sweetness. Then Reid leaned down and set the empty cup on the floor. He settled back into Gideon's embrace and rubbed at his eyes. "I'm sleepy," he said, yawning.

"Probably all that fresh air," smiled Gideon. "Just go to sleep if you want to. I don't mind."

"Mm," mumbled Reid. "Thank you, Jason." He snuggled closer to Gideon

"Oh, my sweet, sweet boy," whispered Gideon, stroking Reid's hair with trembling hands. As Reid closed his eyes, Gideon started to sing a lullaby; one that he had sung to his own son when Stephen was small.

_Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight  
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed _

Lullaby and good night, thy mother's delight  
Bright angels beside my darling abide  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast

Gideon's warm, rich voice trailed off. Reid had slumped heavily against him and his breathing had deepened and slowed. The large dose of barbiturates in the hot chocolate had worked quickly and Reid had now lost consciousness.

"Oh, my sweet boy," said Gideon as the tears fell. He kept on stroking Reid's hair, listening to his soft breathing. His chest rose and fell, slowly and rhythmically. "I love you," Gideon said, "I love you so, so much, sweet boy." He placed a gentle kiss on the young man's head.

Then, he slowly got up from the couch, cradling Reid's head and carefully laying the young man down on his back. He picked up a cushion and knelt next to the couch. "Please forgive me," he whispered and he kissed Reid softly on the lips. Then, his vision blurred with tears, Gideon took the cushion in both hands and pressed it firmly over the young man's face.

There was no struggle, no fight back from the supine figure. The only sound was the ticking of the wall clock and Gideon's occasional choked sob. He held the cushion down for a few long minutes. He needed to be sure. Then he removed the cushion and picked up Reid's wrist, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. He checked the young man's neck and again, there was no pulse. His chest was completely still. Spencer Reid was dead.

Sobbing uncontrollably by now, Gideon took his body in his arms and buried his face in Reid's hair. He howled with the loss and rocked the lifeless body, screaming out the pain of what he had done. The sweet boy, so very dear to him, was gone. Gideon would never see those warm brown eyes again or his shy, nervous smile. He would never again watch him, as a gentle blush creep up the young man's face or hear him, his voice bubbling with excitement as he tried to explain a conundrum to his bemused colleagues. Gideon was clutching a limp, silent form, weeping for all that had gone. Reid was the thing Gideon loved the most and he had killed him.

Then, after he could cry no more, he picked Reid up and carried him to the bedroom, laying him gently on the bed. He folded the young man's arms onto his chest and was about to place a blanket over him, but found that he couldn't bear to cover his face. "Forgive me, my angel," he whispered, kissing Reid's forehead and feeling the warmth starting to leave his body.

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As the sun came up, Gideon stepped outside and made a call on his cell phone. Hotch was at the cabin within the hour.

"Jason, what's happened?" he said, seeing the devastation on the older agent's face.

"Spencer's gone," replied Gideon in a trembling voice "I killed him."

Hotch was stunned. He stared at Gideon in disbelief, shaking his head. The wind darted through the leaves and their rustling was the only sound as Hotch and Gideon faced each other.

Gideon pressed his palms to his swollen eyes. There were no tears left. "Believe me, Aaron, he's dead."

"Jason," started Hotch warily, "If you confess to a murder, I have to do something. Think carefully, please."

Gideon nodded at him. He had done nothing but think carefully about this. "He didn't suffer," he said simply. "I couldn't hurt him. But I had no choice."

He led the way into the cabin and showed Hotch the body laid on his bed. Hotch shook his head and then looked at Gideon with real pain in his dark eyes. "Jason – I don't understand this."

Gideon nodded at him. "You will," he said, handing Hotch an envelope. "I explained everything in there. But he was lost and we couldn't get him back. I had to save him."

Hotch took a deep breath. He would deal with Gideon appropriately for now and try to understand this afterwards. He would not shout and scream here. He would not think about the fact that a close colleague was dead and that one of his oldest friends claimed to have killed him. He quickly buried all feelings of pain. Hotch was a professional and he needed to act like one.

"I know I need to be arrested, and I wanted it to be you," said Gideon. "Can I just get something from the back room?"

"Of course," nodded Hotch, still in shock. He sat down on the bed next to Reid as Gideon left the room. The young man looked so peaceful. Hotch reached out to touch him and recoiled. He was icy cold.

Gideon opened the screen door in the back room and stepped outside onto the grass. No sense in making more of a mess for someone else to clean up. He wiped his eyes and put his head back, feeling the morning sunlight on his face. Then he took out his Glock, placed the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Hotch froze when he heard the shot, unable to move for a few moments. Then he took a deep breath – he knew what he was going to find in the next room and he was in no hurry for that. Instead, Hotch reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it up over Reid's face. He knew that he shouldn't really touch anything – crime scenes were meant to be preserved exactly - but this was Reid, not some unknown murder victim. He was far too young to be lying here with his heart still and his skin pallid. He deserved some privacy in death.

Then Hotch took out his cell phone and called 911.

Hotch told the police that he had heard the shot on arriving at the cabin. Later, he wondered if he had subconsciously known what Gideon was about to do and if he should have done more to prevent it. But he knew Jason Gideon well and he cared too much for him to make him live with what he had done.

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Hotch gave the eulogy. He spoke of angels, of an enduring love and a fear of being parted. He told a story of lovers that had chosen death rather than separation and he kept his composure throughout it all.

He kept strong afterwards, sitting alone in his office, reading through Gideon's letter for the umpteenth time. Then he placed it in an envelope, along with all the notes and evidence and the copy of the LVPD file, and locked it in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Hotch held the team together and told nobody of what had really happened. He managed all the legal and financial matters arising from the deaths, cleaning up after all the fallout from Gideon's decision. Hotch dealt with everything and the FBI were grateful for that.

A year later, Detective Martin contacted the BAU to thank them for their help and to tell them that he had caught his unsub in the act. Gideon's profile had given them some suspects and the Angel of Death, as the press had called him, had been arrested in the home of his last intended victims. Hotch thanked Detective Martin for letting them know. And only then, after putting down the receiver, did he finally allow himself to cry.

Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle. She died young.

John Webster, _The Duchess of Malfi_


End file.
